


Prepare for Trouble

by antigrav_vector



Series: Things I blame on the CapRBB slack [15]
Category: Captain America (MCU), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blowjobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Comic Book Science, Crack Treated Seriously, Handwavy Science, I blame CAPRBB slack chat, I can't even with these idiots, M/M, Mental Link, Mission Fic, OW, POV Steve Rogers, Smut, Stevecest, The Author Regrets Nothing, except typing this up in under 7 hours, really weird love triangles, seems to be a theme in my fic lately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14242797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector
Summary: Stepping into Howard Stark's strange futuristic looking coffin thing for the procedure Dr. Erskine had developed to activate the serum made Steve nervous as hell, but he was determined to follow through. Stepping back out of it afterward ... had Consequences. Some of them bizarre.





	Prepare for Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Instigated, aided, and abetted by velvetjinx.
> 
> Presented with thanks to my beta reader [Dapperanachronism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dapperanachronism).

Steve stumbled over his feet when the lid of Stark's coffin thing opened, wondering why he didn't feel any different, except that he was wrung out like a limp rag by the agony of whatever Stark had just done.

As a chorus of startled and confused shouts went up from the various onlookers which gathered to watch Stark and Dr. Erskine work their magic, a pair of broad strong hands caught him by the shoulders and steadied him.

They let go the moment Steve was steady on his feet again, and Steve turned to see who it was. There was no way anyone could have gotten behind him in time to do that, so who--

"Oh," he managed to say, stunned speechless.

"Yeah," the guy with his face and voice replied. "Oh. I think we're gonna be in all kinds of trouble, now."

Agent Carter stepped over to them, holding out a shirt Steve knew had to be for him. There was no way it would possibly fit the mountain of muscle behind him. "Well," she said, breaking the pair of them out of their little bubble, "the eggheads are going to have a field day with this. How do you feel?"

Steve shrugged. "Same as before."

The new guy -- Steve? Grant? Grant worked. Grant drew a deep breath. "Taller."

What happened next was a blur. All Steve could recall in the aftermath was a series of impressions. Gunshots, the smell of the burnt powder, screams, and the pool of red that spread beneath the kind doctor who'd tried his best to make Steve the man he wanted and needed to be. And Grant taking off like a shot after the spy who'd pulled the gun.

Steve found himself burning with the need to go after Grant. To run and fight and, most of all, to avenge Dr. Erskine.

And, if he was honest, partly because he was just that angry at the spy for snatching away his chance to find out why the serum hadn't worked as predicted.

Why he was still useless.

Grant had the speed and strength and agility he'd risked his life to get, and all Steve had gotten out of the deal had been some pain and the embarrassment of being a failure.

Biting back on everything else, he knelt down at Dr. Erskine's side, not giving a damn that he'd just soaked the knees of his slacks in blood.

"Steven," Dr. Erskine distracted him from his thoughts, "do not fret. You will achieve great things. It is your destiny." He paused to cough wetly, then went on, his lips shining with red blood. "You are a good man. Never lose sight of that. Keep your other half, your inner warrior, on the correct path."

Steve swallowed against the lump in his throat, choking back the tears that threatened. "I will. You have my word."

The hand in his went limp, and Steve knew that was the end.

It shouldn't have been as devastating as it was to lose the man who'd been as likely to kill him as make him stronger, but Steve found himself mourning anyway. Dr. Erskine had been the only person, aside from Agent Carter, who'd looked past his skinny body to the person it housed. To see what he might become if he was given the chance. "I swear it."

It felt like a year went by as he waited for Grant to come back, knowing that his other half wouldn't return before the job was done. He'd felt the determination. Seen it in Grant's face. The set of his jaw, the look in his eyes. Every line of his body had screamed 'I am done playing nice'. He'd either bring back the spy or a corpse and whatever information he could glean.

At some point while Grant was gone, Agent Carter blew back into the secured area and then hauled him to his feet, muttering angry invective at him about not needing to be defended like a porcelain statuette.

Confused but not willing to provoke her further, Steve kept his mouth shut and let her pull him bodily through the building and into what looked like a miniature hospital. "You, Rogers," she growled, sending a shiver of renewed interest through him, despite belonging to Bucky heart and soul, "you are going to stay here and let the scientists run their tests. And when your overgrown twin shows up, you'll make sure he does too."

"Yes ma'am." If he had a lick of sense in his head, Steve decided, Grant would apologise to Agent Carter. Convincingly.

"Hmph. At least one of you knows how to follow directions." She gave him a nod and a long measuring look. "It's not been an easy day, and it's far from over. Keep your strength up."

After she left the room, presumably to chase down Grant or otherwise put the fear of God in him, the scientists descended on him and Steve quickly lost count of the number of times he was weighed, measured, pricked, prodded, bled, and questioned.

Long before they were through with him, Agent Carter deposited Grant beside him, and about half of the scientists turned their attention away from Steve in favor of a fresh target.

Lunch hour came and went and eventually someone remembered to bring them something to eat. The scientists simply worked right through, apparently oblivious to the demands of their bodies.

Steve took his time eating his, pausing when he was about halfway done to note that Grant's sandwich was gone and he was licking the crumbs off his fingers. A hunger pang went through Steve, feeling like a Charlie horse, and that was just weird and wrong. He wasn't that hungry. Not anymore.

Could it be... It was oddly like they were connected somehow by whatever had happened in Stark's coffin thing.

He took one last bite and offered the rest of his sandwich to Grant, who fell on it like a man starved for a week.

"Mph, thanksh," he mumbled around a mouthful of bread, roast beef and lettuce.

It wasn't long before the rest of his sandwich had vanished, too, and Grant picked up the napkin he'd tossed to one side after he'd unwrapped his meal, cleaning himself up as the scientists continued to dance around them, furiously scribbling in notebooks and in some cases forms on clipboards.

The afternoon passed in much the same way, though now it was primarily Grant's turn to get interrogated, while Steve was left with his thoughts. He turned them toward trying to make sense of the crazy notion that he and Grant were tied together somehow. Steve had no doubt that, if the scientists could have detected it, they would have by now, what with the sheer number of tests they'd done.

And, now that he had a chance to think things over, he had to admit that the way he'd felt after Dr. Erskine had gotten shot, the intensity of the emotion, suggested he'd felt what Grant felt as well as his own sorrow.

The connection had to be the action of the serum. A side effect of the way Dr. Erskine had altered it since Schmidt had gotten his hands on it. Steve saw no other even halfway logical conclusion that could be drawn. He also knew he couldn't breathe a word to the scientists or he and Grant would be trapped here for eternity.

The question in all this, though, was: he'd been injected with the Serum, not Grant. So was it still in his system or not, and how would it affect him? The scientists had made no surprised noises over the blood they'd drawn from both of them. Steve was going to assume that meant that they both had the serum, and that it had separated Grant from him somehow. Dr. Erskine had said something about his 'inner warrior', implying that that was Grant.

"Alright," Grant said eventually, stopping the scientists cold, and put his hand on Steve's still-skinny shoulder, "that's enough. We need to get some food and rest."

Steve nodded. "Right. It's nearly dinner."

One of the scientists glanced at the clock in surprise. "So it is. We can work with what we've got, for now. We'll be in touch if we need you boys to come back in."

"You do that," Grant told them, and Steve could tell he never intended to set foot back in this building if he could find any possible way to avoid it. He nodded to the scientists, and steered Steve out of the room a bit protectively.

Bristling, Steve waited until they were out of sight and earshot of the scientists to shrug Grant's hand off him. "I can walk, you know," he griped.

Grant chuckled at him. "I know, but it was obvious they were going to try to keep me there if I didn't use you to get loose. And I don't know about you, but I can't skip another meal."

"Another?" Steve squinted up at Grant. "You had your lunch and half of mine."

"And that barely made a dent," Grant replied calmly, "I don't know how you aren't about to pass out for lack of food."

Steve growled wordlessly, irritated by that for some reason he couldn't pin down. "You're the one who grew about a foot and put on at least a hundred pounds of bone and muscle in under five minutes."

Grant huffed at him, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, and I'm definitely feeling it. If I don't get something to eat soon, I think you might have to carry me to the mess."

"Don't even think about it. You know damned well you'd crush me flat."

\------

[Six months later]

"Every bond you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun," Steve grumbled to himself. "I'd hate it if it wasn't so catchy."

Grant groaned. "Shut up. It gets stuck in my head every time I hear it."

"I'm just happy I physically can sing it, if I want to." Steve stretched, raising his arms up above his head and arching his back. "You might have gotten all the muscles, but it fixed my lungs and all kinds of other things."

\------

[Three months later]

"That?" Agent Carter caught Grant's eyes. " _That_ , Grant, is what is left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured."

Grant turned to him and caught his eyes, and his plan was obvious to Steve before he voiced a word.

"Oh no," Steve groaned. "Grant, no. I know what you're thinking, and the answer is _no_. You have no gear."

"I'm certain he could remedy that," Agent Carter pointed out. She was smirking at them both, pleased and utterly unrepentant, when Steve turned to look at her. "But what will you do, then, Steven? Sit back and watch him for the rest of your life? I said I thought you were meant for great things, and I meant it. Dr. Erskine agreed. Will you waste the gift he gave you?"

Caught off guard, Steve turned to face her properly. "Are you suggesting what I think you are, Agent Carter?"

"Of course not," she replied breezily, her tone light but her eyes deadly serious. "What an imagination you have. What you're implying would be against all regulations, Steven."

Grant had taken advantage of the moments Steve's focus was on Agent Carter to slink away, as Steve discovered when he looked away from her long enough to try to find his composure. "Damn it," he swore, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't alone, "now there'll be hell to pay."

Agent Carter laughed outright. "But the ones to pay it will be the Nazis and HYDRA. Go find him, keep him on the path he's meant to follow."

That choice of words, deliberately echoing what Dr. Erskine had told him -- what he'd told her about in confidence -- and not even bothering to suggest he try to stop Grant... Steve swallowed hard. She was telling him to go after Grant, to jump into battle beside him, with the minimal training he'd gotten before their attempt to pump him full of serum and turn him into, well, Grant.

" _Damn it_ ," he hissed, with a sigh, and resigned himself to finding someone reasonably near his size. He'd have to steal a uniform and some weaponry. He'd never been issued his own. During basic everything had been on loan, and afterward he and Grant had been touring the country drumming up cash and support for the war effort.

Agent Carter smiled at him one last time, this time tinged with sadness and worry, then handed him a small black box about the size of a cigarette case. "Don't worry about transport. And don't lose this. It's a transponder. Activate it once you're not getting actively shot at anymore, and we can use it to locate you once you're done and need a ride home."

He didn't bother to thank her, just grabbed for the thing and hurried off. He was on a time limit and didn't have a countdown. He'd have to move fast if he was going to find and steal some gear before Grant was outside the camp. He thought back over the few soldiers he'd met that were his size. Every last one he could think of was deployed with a different unit.

Passing by the tent the singers were getting dressed in, getting ready for the show that was supposed to start in half an hour, he shook his head. Agent Carter had played them both like pianos. And, sure, right now that was secondary, but he had to wonder why she'd done it. As he finished the thought, Grant appeared out of thin air to walk beside him. "Where're you going in such a hurry?"

"You're not leaving without me," Steve gritted out. "I'm not getting left out again. Not now."

Grant nodded. "Bucky needs us. Phillips said he was among the missing men."

"And you know where they are, too, I guess?" Steve asked half-seriously.

"Krausberg, thirty miles behind enemy lines. The camp they're being held in is fortified, and there are several defensive positions nearby that we'll have to avoid," Grant recited, as though he'd been formally briefed.

Steve knew he'd not been, and turned to give him the stink eye.

"One to the northeast, one on the south access road, and one to the west. We'll have to try to find a quiet way past them." Grant added, smirked at him, and held out a uniform. "Here," he said and pointed to a random tent. "Get dressed. We're leaving in five." 

Steve took the uniform but stared Grant down for a second. "You're going in that getup?"

"This old thing?" Grant smirked wider and gestured to the bright red white and blue Captain America costume he was still wearing under his olive drab trousers and leather bomber jacket. "It's catchy, and we're supposed to bring the show to the troops here."

Steve suspected he'd lifted both items from some unsuspecting passers by, but they were far more practical than tights and shorts so short they covered only the most essential areas. The stage costume left everything about Grant on display. Very deliberately, Steve was sure.

"Well? Get moving before someone comes to stop us," Grant suggested.

"You are so gonna get it later," Steve grumbled at him, but followed directions.

"Probably," Grant agreed easily, standing guard while Steve hurriedly pulled the uniform over his own clothes.

When he stepped back out into the light, Grant dropped a helmet on his head and a gun in his hands. "Let's go. Transport's waiting on the south airstrip."

Wondering when the hell Grant had managed to find them transportation, much less a plane, Steve followed, hoping like hell Grant hadn't stolen that, too.

After a few steps, he decided it didn't matter.

They were going to go get Bucky -- and the rest of the captured men -- out of whatever hellhole HYDRA had put them in, and then spend a few days doing nothing but make Bucky feel good. Or helping him recover, if that was what he needed.

But, Steve had to admit, he was really missing Bucky's company after being separated from him for nearly a year. He intended to haul Bucky off into a quiet corner the first chance he got and make him fight not to scream his pleasure.

Not getting to have sex for that long was probably what was making him wonder about Agent Carter, for that matter. Well, that and her clear advances. Before and after the serum.

Maybe, he decided, they'd have to talk this over with Bucky once things had calmed down a little.

But first, Steve felt his expression go determined and his jaw set as they boarded the plane idling on the runway, first they had to get him back.

\------  
[Two hours later]

Steve was still wondering at the way the pair of them had sliced through HYDRA's defenses like they were so much wet tissue paper. Grant had spotted a convoy of trucks and more or less flung him into the back of one, then followed.

He'd landed just behind Steve, then proceeded to punch out the pair of goons in the back of the truck. By some miracle, the driver hadn't realised what was happening, and had simply driven on. Steve hadn't believed their luck. The guy in the cab had to have been asleep at the wheel, because the back of the truck had definitely bounced quite a lot under his weight, then Grant's, then the pair of goons getting flung out the back and onto the road.

To their shock, getting into the factory hadn't been all that difficult, either. Grant had simply climbed onto the roof of one of the low outbuildings, using a conveniently placed jeep as a stepping stone, then waited for Steve to follow suit, before picking him up and sprinting off toward the main building.

Steve had had to work not to shout at him and draw attention, but he made sure Grant knew he wasn't overly happy about being manhandled like he was a goddamn bale of straw.

Grant had peered in through a window, hissed a curse, then set him down just long enough to break in through said window. "Look like most of the prisoners are in this main room, we'll split up and break as many out as we can before we're caught."

"And if Bucky's not there?" Steve asked quietly, keeping his voice pitched so as not to carry, feeling the adrenaline flooding Grant, and his own. "Then what? What if the intel was wrong?"

"We'll deal with that if and when it becomes our problem," Grant told him. "Still got your lockpicks?"

Bucky had gotten him that set on the sly for his 18th birthday, and taught him how to use it. Steve physically swallowed back the words he wanted to voice and nodded.

"Good," Grant grinned. "Let's go."

"If we survive this," Steve told him, "Bucky's gonna kick our asses."

"I can live with that." Grant grabbed him by the belt and lifted him until he was level with the window. "Up and in you go. There's a catwalk under the window. Careful it doesn't rattle."

"You also need to stop babying me," Steve added, then crept off down the catwalk, heading right. A glance over his shoulder revealed that Grant was ghosting off in the other direction.

Before Steve reached the stairs that led to ground level, Grant swung himself over the railing of the catwalk and dropped feet first onto a patrol. Steve couldn't believe what he was seeing. Somehow either Grant had snuck off to train somewhere along the line, or the serum had given him fighting skills to go along with the muscles.

Shaking off the thoughts, Steve took advantage of the distraction Grant was giving him. He took a deep breath and slid down the handrail of the spiral stairs, fighting not to let himself freak himself out. He could feel the slight strain in his chest that had used to be a warning of an impending asthma attack, but he ignored it, focusing on slowing himself as he reached the floor instead. By the time he was there and racing over to the nearest of the cages, Grant had finished off that patrol and started simply tearing the locks off the cages on his end of the floor. With his bare hands. Steve could feel the shocks of impact and slight pains of bruising that healed nearly instantly as Grant worked.

"Hey," a tall guy in a bowler hat called out to him, "what are you doing here, kid?"

"Breakin' you morons out," he shot back, starting to work the lock open. It took a couple of tries, but once he got it, it sprang open with a loud snick. Steve pulled back as Bowler Hat reached between the bars and slid the lock out of its place holding the door shut.

"Well, you've done that," Bowler Hat replied, "now scat. It's too dangerous for you here."

"Leave him be, Dugan," The guy standing behind Bowler Hat spoke up, his crisp British accent startling after Bowler Hat's broad American vowels, and stepped out of the cage to stand in front of Steve. "Thank you, lad. Let's get the rest of these blasted cages open, and then we'll see about getting you home."

Steve glared at him. "I'm not leaving without my friend," he said firmly. "Any of you know a Sergeant James Barnes?"

They exchanged a look, clearly debating what to say, and Steve felt a chill run up his spine.

Dugan shrugged. "He's most likely dead, kid," he said quietly. "The HYDRA scientists got a hold of him. We ain't seen him in days. Where they took him, don't no one come back from."

Biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, Steve willed himself to patience. "Then I'll carry what's left of him home," he gritted out. "Where. Is. He."

"Northeast corner of the factory. There's a block of labs back there," Dugan answered.

The British guy winced and reached out to put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Whatever you find, it won't be pretty," he said. "Don't do that to yourself. Let yourself remember your friend as he was. Not whatever they did to him or turned him into."

"Problem?" Grant appeared at his side, and Steve breathed a silent sigh of relief. Backup.

Dugan made a face that looked like he'd just smelled a week old fish. "And who are _you_ , flag-boy?"

Grant smiled, showing a lot of teeth. "He and I are the ones breaking you out. You may have heard the name Captain America?"

Someone behind them put in, "He broke the locks off with his bare hands, Dugan. I'm with him, if it gets me out of here."

That, naturally, was when the alarms started sounding. Grant took charge. "Morita, take Jones and half the men and destroy whatever you can in here. I don't know what they're building but I don't like the look of it one bit. It'll be best if someone can rig it to blow after we're gone."

The guy who'd spoken up grinned broadly, gleeful. "I know just the guy. Dernier! Jacques, get your ass over here! Captain's got a job for ya! The rest of you assholes! We need two teams!"

Grant let Morita marshall the men in the hall and turned back to Dugan and the still-nameless Brit. "You with me or not?"

Dugan made a sound that might have counted as a chuckle had he been in a better mood. "Sure. Why not. Monty?"

"Why not, indeed."

Grant nodded, satisfied. "Then I want you take charge of the second team and make us a distraction. Buy us some time. Tie up their men, break their emplaced weapons. Be … creative."

Dugan considered Grant for a long moment, then smiled. "Okay, now you're talkin' my language, Cap'n." He turned to the assembled milling men and whistled shrilly enough to be heard over the sirens. "You men are comin' with us! We've got us some revenge to dole out!"

Steve watched them disperse, picking up what looked like weapons from the various surfaces of the factory, then turned to Grant. "I know where he is. Coming?"

"Try to stop me."

Steve led the way across the factory floor, grabbing a few weapons and ammunition cartridges of his own.

Grant followed, keeping pace with him easily, and Steve finally realised with a sinking feeling that Grant was fucking holding that prop shield he'd gotten so fond of on the bond sales tour. "What'd you find out? You're upset."

"Well, for one, you're carrying around that chunk of tin, as though it'll help you worth a damn." Steve shot back.

"It's stopped all the bullets I've tried it against so far," Grant replied, and damned if learning that fact didn't make Steve even more annoyed somehow. 

"I don't care. It's tiny and leaves your entire body exposed except for a dinner-plate sized patch."

Grant gave him a look that said he could see right through him. "Stop trying to distract me. What happened to Bucky?"

Steve tried to run a hand through his hair but came up short because of the helmet he was wearing. "The scientists took him and experimented on him. Dugan didn't know more, but those experiments apparently kill."

Grant's expression went stony. "I'll burn this entire facility to the ground."

"No. The others will handle it. We need to get Buck and get out of here. The more time we take the more of them will die buying us time." Steve suddenly understood what Dr. Erskine and Peggy had meant. It would be far too easy to let anger and revenge blind him if he didn't keep the bigger picture in sight, and right now Grant was only focused on one thing.

That one thing currently happened to be forcing the door to the labs open.

Steve let him work, knowing better than to try to stand between Grant and his goal. Until the door was open anyway. After that, Steve intended to get to Bucky come hell or high water.

The moment the gap was wide enough, Steve was squeezing through it and working his way quickly through the rooms lining the short corridor. Thankfully, there weren't too many. Opening the third door, with Grant right on his heels, Steve's knees went weak.

"Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight..." Bucky mumbled, "Sergeant. Three-two--"

His voice cut out there, but he lips continued moving, shaping the rest of the serial number. Steve didn't remember how he got to Bucky's side, putting his hands on his lover's face and trying to get his attention. "Bucky! Buck, open your eyes."

"--ree-eight. Sergeant..."

Grant's voice was hard. "Stand back a moment and let me get him out of there. You were right; we have to move fast."

Steve's hands felt like they were glued to Bucky's skin. It took far more effort than it ever had before to make himself pull back and let Grant step in close.

Before Steve could really process it, Grant had Bucky's arms loose, and then his legs, and was hauling Bucky to his feet. Bucky's right arm over his shoulders, Grant straightened.

"Steve?" Bucky's voice was hoarse and thin, worn down to nothing,

"I'm here, Buck. Just hold on." Steve told him. "I'm gonna get you outta here."

"Steve, am I dead?" Bucky asked him, sounding dazed. "There are two of ya."

Grant chuckled. "You're not dreaming. Come on. Hop to, Sergeant."

\------

[Ten and a half hours later]

Looking back on it, Steve still wasn't quite sure how they'd gotten out of that factory and past the defensive emplacements without losing more than twenty men.

Now, they were holed up about a mile behind enemy lines, and waiting. Steve had fished the transponder out of his pocket and activated it about an hour ago. If Agent Carter's promise had been good -- and he had no reason to believe it wasn't -- help should be arriving soon.

Dawn was about to break, and it had been nearly twelve hours since he and Grant had gone AWOL. Or, well, technically they hadn't, had they. Neither of them was actually enlisted, though he suspected that they would be after the news of the rescue broke. The US Army was unlikely to let that kind of propaganda coup go to a civilian.

As the sun crested the tops of the trees to the east, the sound of a convoy of jeeps became audible, and Steve grinned. Odds were good that was their transport.

Their arrival back at the camp had caused a massive stir, and to Steve's amusement, everyone had held him and Grant up as the guy in charge. Not one of the men who'd expressed their doubts at the factory in Krausberg breathed so much as a word about it, to Colonel Phillips or Agent Carter, or anyone else vaguely official who asked them questions about how everything had happened.

It took Steve most of the next twenty-four hours to find so much as five minutes alone with Bucky, and he spent every last one of the hours away from Bucky twitchy and irritable. Grant wasn't faring much better, but Steve had taken advantage of one of the debriefings that Grant was forced to attend but he wasn't to track down Bucky.

He finally found his lover in the one-man pup-tent that had been assigned to him, staring blankly at its olive drab wall. Carefully, Steve called out to him. "Buck?"

For a long frozen moment, Bucky didn't even twitch. "Steve? I keep thinkin' it's a dream."

"It's real," Steve hastened to reassure him. "It's very real. I missed you, Bucky."

Bucky swallowed, but reached out for him. "And what happened to you while I was gone? You go and get yourself a twin or something?"

"Something like that. I can't talk about it. Not here." Steve reached back, taking Bucky's hand in his own. "Grant's... well, part of me."

"Part of you?" Bucky snorted, a bit more animation coming into his features now that he was slowly starting to relax. "That's not exactly doing much to convince me this ain't just a fever dream. No way there could be two of you. Hell. There's no way there could even be one of you on this side'a the Atlantic."

A thought occurred to Steve, then, as he took in Bucky and the dark rings under his eyes. "Have you even slept since we got back?"

"Couldn't." Bucky gave him a crooked smile that made Steve's knees go a little weak. "I keep dreamin' of home, of you, and knowin' it's impossible."

Steve made an impulsive decision. "Alright, strip down and get under your covers. You need to rest, and I'm going to make sure you do."

Bucky's expression was one of stunned disbelief. "That's gonna get me a blue ticket."

"No, it's not," Steve said firmly, changing tacks. "I'm a dream, remember? Can't get a blue ticket for a dream."

"Guess you're right," Bucky said and gave in.

Steve waited for him to strip down to his boxers and settle himself on his cot. Once Bucky was settled, he didn't hesitate, settling in his accustomed position with his head tucked under Bucky's chin. "Now rest. I'll make sure the nightmares stay away, and we'll talk about the rest later."

"Mmm, 'kay," came the mumbled reply, and Bucky's next breath was a quiet snore.

Steve couldn't resist the need to drop a kiss on Bucky's cheekbone before he settled down to get a few winks himself. There hadn’t really been much time for rest for him either.

Reveille woke him with a jolt at 0500 and he dumped himself on his ass on the ground beside Bucky's cot. Steve just lay there for a few seconds, rubbing at his eyes and groaning. "Ow."

Bucky's hand and forearm flopped over the side of the cot and he muttered, "Okay, you win, my dreams never woke me up before dawn."

The comment surprised a laugh out of Steve. "Come on, let's go find some breakfast. It'll disappear quicker than usual with the extra men around."

Grumbling under his breath, Bucky forced himself to his feet, then offered Steve a hand up. Grateful that Bucky had somehow managed to get himself a tent alone, Steve stepped in close, touching and reminding Bucky that they had other things to discuss than Grant's existence, as Bucky dressed.

"Steve," Bucky said after Steve's wandering hands had crossed the expanse of his shoulders and back, then dared venture lower, "now ain't the time."

Pulling his hands back, Steve put on his best 'Who? Me?' look. "No idea what you mean. Ready?"

"I swear. Moment we get some privacy," Bucky replied, "I'm going to show you _exactly_ what I mean."

The tone of Bucky's voice left no doubt what he meant, and Steve had to bite his lip to keep his high whine of want and need behind his teeth. It had been way too long, and Bucky really couldn't expect him to keep his hands to himself. They weren't going to find true privacy for a long while. "I'm holding you to that."

Bucky finished making himself presentable. He was a bit less than pristine, but there hadn't been time to launder what he'd been wearing when they'd gotten back or enough supplies to get everyone who needed one a new uniform.

"A'course you are," he replied, tone dry. "Now, come on. Let's go eat."

\------

[Six hours later]

Breakfast was long behind them, and so were the next pair of debriefings.

All Steve wanted was a chance to sit down somewhere, preferably with Grant and Bucky, to get his own life in order, now that their impromptu rescue mission had been dissected six times over by the brass and analysts.

Grant had given them all manner of little tidbits of information he'd picked up as they razed the factory and camp, and the brass had adored him for it. The map of HYDRA's assets and planned operations that he'd managed to steal somewhere in the time Steve hadn't been watching him had been invaluable, and everyone repeatedly told them so.

Steve found he didn't much care for the praise that was being heaped on them. All he wanted was time with Grant and Bucky, and he was getting to the point where he was willing to simply drag them off the base to get it, if he had to.

To make matters worse, Grant had been given leave to assemble a team to go after those assets and sabotage the operations. He'd promptly named five of the men they'd broken out, Bucky, and Steve. The brass hadn't hesitated to take the next step. Minutes later, Grant had been handed a mission: speak to his new team and the quartermaster, to assemble the materiel and ammunition to move out in under 48 hours. Their first target would be the nearest HYDRA base: 40 miles or so west of the Maginot Line, deep in occupied France, and roughly to the north of their current position.

A twinge at the nape of his neck reminded him that Grant felt much the same as he did about needing some time away from the constant meetings. He'd taken to pinching the skin there if he needed to get Steve's attention or ask Steve to cause a distraction. Steve looked up a half second after he'd felt the twinge and spotted Grant caught in a knot of analysts. The big oaf probably wanted Steve to rescue him. Steve shrugged and did what Grant wanted. That way at least he wouldn't get glared at over dinner or suffer some artistic form of revenge.

"Excuse me," he interrupted them and kept his voice calm but firm, "but I need to borrow the Captain. His team needs to go over some tactical decisions with him if they're going to be effective."

"Of course," Grant agreed immediately, jumping on the excuse, "we'll continue our conversation later, gentlemen."

Leading Grant away from them, toward the supposed meeting, Steve supposed that technically he and Bucky did count. It wasn't a total lie.

Even if he didn't plan to do much talking about tactics or strategy.

When Bucky appeared, as though he'd been summoned by the thought, Steve had to bite back a laugh. "Hey Buck, perfect timing."

"Yeah?" Bucky sounded like he wasn't sure whether that meant good news or bad news. Steve could relate.

Grant shrugged. "I'm apparently late for a meeting with unspecified team members to discuss tactics," he told Bucky, voice quiet enough that it didn't carry far.

"I see." Bucky nodded. "I think conference room three in the south building is free. The three of us can get started, and ask someone to call in the others."

"Good idea," Steve agreed. If they could get a conference room that would be great. They were relatively well soundproofed, in deference to the sensitive information that exchanged hands inside, and they wouldn't be questioned too hard if they asked to use one, or even simply commandeered it. "There are a couple of things we need to discuss with you alone first, anyway," he said, as they entered the building and started climbing the stairs.

He was very glad that they managed to get to the conference room without any further interruptions. Setting the little flag beside the door to 'occupied', Steve shut the door firmly and leaned against it, taking in Bucky where he sat attentively at the table, and Grant, who was perched on the table's edge.

"So," Grant asked him, "gonna clue me in, Steve?"

Bucky looked back and forth between them. "Okay, what's going on?"

"I wasn't kidding then I said we had a few things to talk over," Steve said, stepping closer until he could pull Bucky's chair out from under the table with a screech and deposit himself boldly in Bucky's lap.

Grant made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. "Uh, what did you need me here for, then?"

"You're part of me, Grant. And vice versa. Tell me you don't feel as strongly about Bucky as I do?" Steve caught Grant's eyes and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I-- I wouldn't. You and Buck… I wouldn't try to split you up. You know that."

"Tactics and strategy," Bucky muttered, apropos of nothing, then looked up to catch Grant's eyes in his turn. "I can't say it's not deeply unsettling to have two of Steve running around, but if he's telling the truth about you bein' part'a him..."

"Yeah, he is," Grant rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed and a bit shy.

Bucky held out a hand and waited until Grant took it carefully. "Then I don't see what the problem is? It's still the two of us, til the end of the line, right? 'Cept now we're three people. Or maybe two and a half."

Grant made a disbelieving sound.

"Okay," Bucky added, "I give. Maybe I kind of want to see what you look like under that uniform, Grant."

Steve smirked. This was shaping up promisingly. "So," he put in, shifting in Bucky's lap to remind his lover of certain other things, "while we have a bit of privacy… do you want to?"

The question got him a startled look, but Bucky didn't say no. He reached for Steve's pants, and undid the button and fly. "You shameless punk," he gritted out as he reached in and ran his fingers over sensitive skin, "you and your exhibitionistic streak are gonna get us caught one of these days."

Grant smirked, and moved to lean against the closed door in a pose that looked casual, but Steve knew his other half wasn't going to be moved before he decided he was ready. "Maybe, but not this time," he said, watching them intently.

Learning what they were like together and what they liked, no doubt. Steve pulled Bucky down into a kiss with a hand fisted in his lover's hair, and did his best to rile Bucky up with nothing but his lips and tongue.

In response, Bucky started tugging his shirt up until it got in the way too much, then undid the buttons until he could get at Steve's chest. Bucky's clever fingers plucked at his nipples until they were sensitive and peaked, then drifted lower, leaving them to be teased by the fabric of his shirt.

Steve groaned into the kiss, only barely remembering to keep his voice down.

Bucky pulled back for a beat, grinned at him, then claimed his mouth again as his hands teased Steve erect.

It had been so long since he'd had Bucky's hand on him, that it was over all too quickly, though. Steve had to pull away before he came all over his uniform and Bucky's. Had to force himself to his feet and grab at the edge of the conference room table to stay upright, gasping for air. Bucky didn't miss a beat. On the heels of a near-voiceless but very needy whine, he leaned in and took Steve's cock into his mouth, swallowing him down without hesitation.

All Bucky had to do was take him in and hold him there for a bare second before Steve was tensing and coming hard, biting down on his lip to stifle his pleased shout.

Bucky pulled back, satisfied, then happened to look up and meet Grant's eyes.

"Bucky," Grant rasped, then cleared his throat, "if you want to--"

The hesitant invitation got Bucky moving. He stood and undid his pants, letting them fall to the floor, then took the few steps over to Grant. "I want to. But what do you want?"

"Touch me?"

Grant knew what sex was like. Steve was sure of that much. But he didn't seem to know what he enjoyed. Steve let himself fall into a chair to watch Bucky take Grant apart.

"We'll have to do this again sometime when we're not in a rush," Bucky told Grant and dropped Grant's pants to the floor with a clink of the belt buckle. "For now, I think I want to compare you to Steve."

Going down to one knee, Bucky took a moment to lick a stripe up the underside of Grant's cock and hum quietly in pleasure. "Very nice," he muttered, then took the head in his mouth.

Grant's expression did something that Steve couldn't place. It seemed like he was trying to feel four different emotions at once, and so all that showed outwardly was the conflict between them.

For his part, Steve was distracted by the way he could almost feel Bucky lick at Grant's cock. It was a startling sensation and a strong turn-on. He suddenly needed to have Bucky on his tongue, himself. Steve slid out of the chair and to his hands and knees.

Bucky, bare from the waist down, didn't stand a chance. Steve wrapped his hand around the thick length that bobbed between Bucky's legs with every motion of his head as he worked Grant.

The touch sent a shiver up Bucky's spine, and got Steve a muffled attempt at his name. Grant jerked, his elbow banging against the heavy wood paneling of the door. Steve hoped no one came to investigate. Luckily, a number of the members of the brass tended to slam things against tables when they got excited.

Licking at Bucky's cock made him groan quietly around Grant, and Steve chuckled before he took his lover into his mouth.

The next moment, Grant was coming with a hiss, and shuddering. Bucky made a satisfied sound at the back of his throat and Steve decided that was the moment to make his move. He pulled Bucky back off Grant and turned him so that the angle was better to take Bucky in properly.

What felt like an instant later, Bucky bit down on his wrist as he came, too.

They leaned against one another for a few seconds, catching their breath, then looked up.

"Good meeting," Grant deadpanned. "I think we've resolved the major issues."

Bucky snorted, and reached for his pants. "I doubt that. We'll have to revisit the topic soon, I think, if I know Steve."

Steve didn't bother trying to deny it. "A bit of repetition makes any speech more effective," he told them, archly.


End file.
